


Prescription Painkillers

by gauthannja



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Awkward Crush, F/M, Platonic Romance, Romance, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauthannja/pseuds/gauthannja
Summary: — That’s why you definitely cannot get a serious injury, Hiruma-kun.He had disobeyed her, so why should she obey him now? What did it matter that she had lost some old bet?===The day of the game against the Hakushuu Dinosaurs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Almost fitting into canon but with some logistical differences. 
> 
> The only spoiler that matters is right at the very beginning so... you are warned!!
> 
> This one is not part of my larger series ([The Art of Management](https://archiveofourown.org/series/552349)) but still a HiruMamo fic because I don't care about anyone else, even after all this time and words spilt.

 

 

_— That’s why you definitely cannot get a serious injury, Hiruma-kun._ 1

 

He had disobeyed her, so why should she obey him now? What did it matter that she had lost some old bet?

Mamori struggled to control her breathing, pulling the air into her lungs slowly and deliberately as she suppressed all the arguments ready to fly off her tongue. They wouldn't make a difference anyway. So she forced herself to bite them back, focusing instead on wrapping the tape around Hiruma’s broken arm, and then the good one. It took all her strength to pull the tape from the roll. She tried to breathe out her anger and fear, or at least hold them still, and each time she inhaled she was surrounded with the scent of his sweat. Half a game’s worth of struggle. She took another breath and forced her hands to keep working.

The truth was, he didn’t need to threaten her to do this, even though preparing him to go back out on the field when he should have been going to the hospital was against her every instinct. But rather than being infuriated, as she usually was when he tried to coerce her into doing something, she found instead that she was thankful to him for invoking that little wager they had entered into all those months ago. She could pretend things were simple. She could pretend she was angry but that her hands were tied and that she was forced to go along with it despite her deep opposition. She might call him an idiot to his face, for taking this kind of risk for some silly game… but no matter what, she knew she had to help him keep his promise to his friends.2

Even if it meant letting him get hurt again.

Her fingers shook. She breathed out and back in.  

As soon as it seemed like she was cooperating, Hiruma had slipped into a calculating stare, imagining the plays and counterplays for the next quarter as he listened to the distant announcements from the field and tried to ignore the pain. Once— just once, as she was working on his injured arm— she caught him suck in his breath. It had been quiet, almost too soft to hear, but sharp enough to make her hands freeze. He shot her a harsh glare. It was a warning to keep working and forget what she had witnessed on pain of death. She swallowed her fear and carefully continued her task.

When she had finished, Mamori ran her hands lightly over his arms, checking that the tape was set. It was the best she could do. She looked up at him, struggling to think of what to say. She was still choked with anger, still so afraid of what might happen that it was hard to speak, but her eyes took on a new resolve. Hiruma moved to stand but she held his wrists. She had to say something.

“What?” Hiruma frowned impatiently. “You’re gonna try to stop me, after all that?”

Mamori drew a deep breath.  

“Destroy them, Hiruma-kun.” Her voice was a whisper, a fierce command.

His intense expression suddenly flashed into a sly, appreciative grin. “Keh, I’m working on it. But I’m not done with you yet, fuckin’ manager.”

With one broken arm and the other taped as if it were, of course he needed help with the gear and his uniform, but he also had some decorative, more theatrical requests which cut through her anxiety and reminded her of the person she could only barely tolerate.

“Ketchup,” she repeated, with a nonplussed expression. “Really…?”

The last half of the game felt like an eternity, and the entire time she was holding her breath. Her heart seized at each pass and every player that veered toward the quarterback as she envisioned his arm shattering again and again. But there was a full team beside him, defending him for her, and this time they didn't fail.

When the Devil Bats pushed past the Dinosaurs’ defense and took the Eastern Championship title, their entire reality exploded. There was no more hoping or striving— they were really going to the Christmas Bowl! Mamori felt her heart in her throat, swollen with pride. She could have hugged every person in the stadium, but that would not have been appropriate at all. The exception was Suzuna, of course. The girl’s arms strangled her around the ribs and Mamori finally choked out the cheer that had been trapped inside. Her boys had done it. They had fought and won, and made their dreams real.

After that was the ecstatic chaos of fans and reporters.

So many reporters.

Sena was sweating as he tried to stand behind the gauntlet he had accidentally thrown down at the award ceremony, alternating between stammering and grinning like a kid. Still overwhelmed with their victory, Mamori was hardly able to think straight let alone intervene in the media frenzy. But as she watched Hiruma laugh and gloat in front of the microphones and cameras, she was counting the moments and calculating how much strength he could possibly have left in him. Finally she stepped between him and the reporters, thanking everyone for their interest but insisting that their questions would have to wait.

“Fuckin' manager…” Hiruma’s voice hissed over her shoulder. “Just let me have this.”

Mamori turned to face him, fully prepared to argue. She knew what he really needed, and what he needed was a proper cast. But something in his eyes stopped her. Didn't he deserve every second of glory in exchange for all his recklessness?

“Five minutes,” she conceded. “I'll send a stretcher to get you,” she added as she left him in his element.

If she thought he would rest in the ambulance or at the hospital as they waited for the x-rays, she was wrong. He barely closed his eyes, even to blink. It wasn't until the painkillers kicked in while they were starting to apply the plaster that his eyelids began to droop a little. But whenever he caught her pained stare he would grin again and start laughing about how they were going to the Christmas Bowl.

Coach Doburoku sent Mamori home when he arrived at the hospital to take care of the paperwork (as Hiruma refused to divulge the real contact information for his parents or any other legal guardians). But she left reluctantly. It wasn't that she didn't trust the coach who always seemed to have a gourd marked “saké” in hand to take care of their team captain who was independent to a fault, but she worried a little— over the months prior she had witnessed more examples of the teen taking care of the older man, after all.

“Tch, just go already and get ready for the party,” Hiruma sneered (honestly, he was sneering at her after she had done everything he asked and then still made sure he was taken care of when it was apparently the last thing on his mind!?). “If you’re late, the fatass is gonna finish off the cream puffs without any competition!”

He seemed to find that hilarious, and threw his head back in laughter without even wincing at the pain. It was easy to leave such an inconsiderate, infuriating person behind, especially in a hospital where the staff were paid to deal with him.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Mamori only stopped at her house long enough to grab her overnight bag, then headed over to the Taki residence to change. She had left her dress at Suzuna’s place after they had gone shopping together the week before. The two girls had only planned to visit the shrine to ask for luck for the upcoming game, but their fortunes had suggested an auspicious day for money and an important event in their future. When they passed a dress shop with an impressive one-day-only sale on the way home, Suzuna interpreted it as fate and promptly dragged a more skeptical Mamori inside. She felt uncomfortably superstitious about acting as if the game had been won, especially knowing the stats and their chances against Hakushuu as well as she did. But the shop had a collection of stylish outfits that could be worn to a range of events, and they both found something perfect for the Devil Bats’ championship celebration— and at unbeatable prices, no less.

At Suzuna's place the girls helped each other dress and did their hair for the party, periodically jumping or dancing, singing: “Going to the Christmas Bowl!!” Mamori smiled when Suzuna decided to wear her usual knee-length leggings under her dress, although some dark voice in the back of her mind noted that swimwear might be practical if the party ship wound up sinking before the night ended. After all, who knew what quality of vessel that high school terror had hired, and likely through blackmail, at that. Would the ship be equipped with sufficient life-saving devices? Would Hiruma be able to swim with a broken arm? The evening’s celebration was starting to make her worry.

They had barely finished changing when Mamori's phone started dancing on the coffee table. Her worrying reflex flared again when she saw the name on the display, but when she flipped it open that feeling disappeared quickly.

“Fuckin' manager get over here! I've got work for you.”

“Excuse me? Did I hear you say please?”

“Quit yapping and hurry up.”

“Honestly,” Mamori sighed, “you could just ask nicely.”

“I'm texting you the address,” was all he said before hanging up.  

She glared at the phone as if it could silently transmit her frustration to the other side, despite the line being dead. The address he had promised blinked onto the tiny screen as if in reply. It was near their school, practically on the other side of the district. Mamori sighed again and snapped the phone shut.

“That was You-nii, right?” Suzuna chirped. “Is he doing okay?”

“He sounds just fine,” Mamori grumbled. She checked her purse for her transit card, handkerchief, miniature first aid kit, mending kit, and umbrella, then placed her cellphone inside. “There probably won't be enough time for me to get all the way back here before it's time to leave, so just head over without me. Let's meet at the pier, okay?”

If Suzuna was disappointed it didn’t show. Instead, as always, she focused on the positive side of things. “Yaa!! Boat party and then slumber party~~!!!”

Her cheer was contagious. By the time Mamori stepped out the door in her fur-trimmed shrug she had forgotten her anger at being so rudely summoned. After all, he was injured. On the train she was too absorbed in her thoughts to notice the other passengers staring at her as if they had never seen a highschool girl dressed for a black-tie event before. Instead her mind was still replaying the game, remembering Hiruma being crushed under the Dinosaurs’ fearsome lineman and the thousand different feelings that tore through her as she forced herself to help him go back out to face all that again. And then he had somehow, half-crippled, conjured up a win. Gargoyle. Sorcerer. Demon. All the names to explain his actions were supernatural. He made them easy to believe.

The address he sent was of a business hotel and the room was on the fourth floor. Mamori found the door open and Hiruma with his fresh cast inside, wearing dress pants and nothing else, his hair still drooping from the shower. At first she instinctively averted her eyes, but then remembered that he had been topless the entire time she was taping his arms and she hadn’t batted an eyelash. She forced herself to look at him. He was wrestling with a towel in one hand, trying to dry his hair, and didn't even glance at her as she entered.

“What the hell took you so long? You only live like ten minutes away.”

“I wasn't at home,” she replied.

His eyebrow raised and he stole a glance at her dress and done-up hair with an evil grin. “Oh yeah?”

“At Suzuna's!” she clarified emphatically, and Hiruma seemed to laugh simply at the fact that he had made her snap at him.

As she attempted to ignore him she got a better appreciation of her surroundings. It was really a typical Western-style business hotel, but it looked like the same occupant had been staying there for some time— one with the power to command a few modifications. A squarish lounge chair was wedged between the single bed and the wall, blocking the side table that was piled with what looked like football magazines. In addition to the usual mini-fridge and kettle there was a microwave. The pile of black t-shirts beside the chair and the Deimon High uniform crumpled in the corner made her suspicious.

“Hiruma-kun, do you…” She hesitated. She had to be wrong. “Do you actually live here?”

“Yeah,” he replied with such disinterest he didn't even bother to shrug.

“But–” Mamori cut herself short, shaking her head, forcing herself to feel exasperated. Of course he did. Of course he lived alone– the hospital incident had made it clear that wherever his parents were (Kurita had told her once that they were alive, at least), they were not in the picture. Of course he didn't even have a proper kitchen. What had she expected?

“Grab the dryer and make yourself useful.” Hiruma tossed the damp towel at her and Mamori was forced back to the moment. Any other day she would have sharply reminded him she was not his servant, but he was injured, after all. That was why she had come in the first place. She slipped off the low, sling-back shoes that she always wore to dressy events because they were cute as well as comfortable and picked her way across piles of clothes and whatever else covered the few feet of floor to the bathroom. Without the towel blocking the view of his cast she noticed something else and it bothered her.

“Hiruma-kun! Why don't you have a sling?”

“Obviously I'll put it on after I'm dressed. Anyway, I need working arms, and you have two,” he replied. “And we don't have much time, since you dawdled so long getting here.”

“Honestly, you are so…” Mamori began as she moved to drape the towel over the rod of the shower curtain, but she stopped when she realized what she was facing. A plastic garbage bag hung there already, dripping with water, with a ragged strip of tape clinging to the open end. She could vividly picture him struggling to seal the bag above his cast using only one hand, probably cutting the tape with his teeth while cursing profusely.

Because Hiruma Youichi had no one at home to help him.

Mamori felt something tense in her chest.

“I'm so right, is that what you're trying to say?” Hiruma’s mocking voice floated through the doorway. “It's under the counter if you’re too blind to see it.”

She couldn't find her voice to launch back a retort. She brought the dryer out and plugged it into the powerbar that protruded awkwardly from behind the side table. Hiruma was sitting sideways in the chair with his legs folded and propped against the arm so that she could reach his hair properly, since there was no space to stand behind the chair. Her heart still ached. He looked almost like a little boy sitting like that, waiting impatiently, and she felt a bit like a mother, making sure his roots got properly dried before he went out into the ocean air at the beginning of December. This Hiruma was a tiny bit more helpless than the one she was used to– though no less aggravating– and it was confusing. So Mamori said nothing.

Hiruma, on the other hand, just laughed. He kept laughing, kind of deliriously, with what was almost his regular crazy laugh but longer and unprompted. When she stared at him trying to decode it he leaned back, grinning wide: “We’re going to the Christmas Bowl!! Kehkehkeh!”

“How do you still have so much energy?” she said, half in disbelief, half scolding him. “Shouldn't you rest?

“Forget that.” For a moment his grin became intense and focused. “Today will never come again. I’ll rest when I'm fucking dead.” Then he resumed his laughter.

Mamori sighed, then cracked an indulgent smile and aimed the dryer at the point of his ear to annoy him. “Why am I doing this, anyway? You can do it with one hand.”

He laughed at that with a whoop of surprise. She realized possibly she had not chosen the best wording. She also suspected he might be a bit high on painkillers, but it was hard to tell.

“This isn't why I called you, but it's easier if you do it. And faster, in theory. Aren't you done yet?”

The real reason he had called her was to help him put on his dress shirt. The cast made the sleeve almost impossible to get on. It got stuck part way, but he was convinced it could fit over if each length of fabric was pulled at just the right angle. Mamori tugged at the sleeve, focused on her task, in much the same position as when she taped his arms that afternoon except she could only barely catch the faintest trace of the scent she had been breathing in. As she worked she couldn't help but think of the bag in the shower. No parents, no grandmother, no older siblings, not even a kindly neighbor to take care of him; just Hiruma alone with one good arm pretending he was fine until he couldn't pretend anymore.

“Keh, fuckin' manager, you’re not allowed to look depressed,” Hiruma scoffed. She glanced up from the sleeve to find him watching her work with his piercing eyes. “Did you forget— we're going to the Christmas Bowl!” He laughed again, as if to underscore the singular, non-conditional reality of the event. “Anyway, I thought you’d be loving this, taking care of this guy who’s basically been reduced to a kid who can't even dress himself.”

The narrowest part of the sleeve passed the widest part of the cast, as long as she left the cuff unbuttoned, and Mamori pulled the rest over easily.  Next she picked up the bow-tie that was lying on the arm of the chair and shook her head. Despite his sometimes unbelievable choices of outfits, it seemed that wearing a clip-on was perhaps unacceptably cheap in his mind. But he had calculated that he might get injured long before the game, he might have anticipated this wardrobe complication as well. It was only a moment before she realized, of course he had. _She_ had been the plan. Not Kurita or even Musashi, not that sparing them this sight would make any difference in their opinions of him. Still, there was no end to the appearances he had to keep up. She let out a tiny sigh as she slipped the strip of fabric under his collar.

“You have almost convinced everyone that you are some kind of supernatural being,” she said, looping the bow to tie it. “But I know your secret, Hiruma-kun.”

“Oh really?” Hiruma looked smug and more than a little intrigued.

She looked him in the eyes, for once not frowning. “You’re a human. Just a human boy.”

Hiruma held her gaze for a full second longer than she expected before grinning and cackling: “Kehkehkeh!! But you can't tell anyone! No one can know. And especially, not THIS.” He gestured at the floor with his good arm.

“This!?” She followed the movement with a look of confusion. He was not known for his love of cleaning up anyway, so what was there to hide?

“I can't tie my fucking shoes!” he replied. “We’re going to the fucking Christmas Bowl, and I can't fucking tie my fucking shoes!! If anyone finds out, I’ll have to use everything I’ve got against you.”

She couldn't imagine who would expect him to be able to tie his shoes with his arm in a cast. But by that point she knew well enough that he covered anything that might resemble feelings with something loud and crude. A threat as a mask. It was almost sweet.  

“I'll tie your shoes when you’re ready to go,” Mamori promised instead of demanding he ask politely (just this once). “And I won't tell.”

She held up his jacket and he maneuvered his cast through the sleeve. It fit over snugly and only required a little straightening. Then she took the already-tied sling from the arm of the chair and slipped it over his head. Her face passed close to his, and her eyes flashed up toward his own. It was a few seconds before she realized she hadn't taken a breath, but she was frozen with her arms reaching back around his neck. It was practically an embrace.

“You’d better move,” Hiruma said, moving his eyes slightly to look past her. She pulled her arms back and took a step to the side, keeping her gaze on the floor, not trusting herself. For a moment she had caught herself imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Her mind raced, searching for explanations. Had she forgotten to stay properly hydrated during the game, like that time in the Arizona desert?

“Shoes, then let's go.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 1 : See [vol 251 Rules of the Battlefield](https://mangadex.org/chapter/68207/16) ; 
> 
> Note 2: It seems like a lot of scan translations of the manga [omit this page](https://mangadex.org/chapter/68292/18) from the dialogue between Mamori and Hiruma in vol 265 (Gargoyle). "I have a promise to keep, no matter what."


	2. Chapter 2

Hiruma had engineered an explosion and had not stayed to watch. Mamori couldn’t help but worry about him.

On the deck of the party cruiseliner, Mamori helped Suzuna to her feet. Almost instantly the smaller girl jumped up and was leaning over the rail, searching for Sena in the bay. When she spotted him on the shore she called out and waved with her usual excitement. Monta was already running to his side, Mamori noticed with a sigh of relief. Sena had been at the epicentre of the blast when the giant inflatable devil-bat balloon had burst. Even though the victim had been somewhat randomly selected by the shiritori game, Hiruma should have been able to predict that Sena might be the one flung into the sea, and she felt a familiar knot of protective anger twisting inside her. But when she looked around to give him a piece of her mind, he was nowhere to be found.

“Did Hiruma-kun actually go home?” she asked Musashi, who was leaning against the rail between the deck and the harbour, cleaning his ear with a finger as if nothing had happened.

“He did make a pretty big show of leaving,” Musashi said with an enigmatic smile, shaking his head in what seemed to be disbelief. “I’m surprised he could bear to go early.”

Mamori didn’t reply. Hiruma had probably calculated his exit in advance, knowing sooner or later his body would give out, and that was something he would prefer to take place in private. Musashi knew that as well as she did.

“Well, it’s good,” he continued, filling the silence. “He deserves to rest, finally.”

“Yes, he does,” Mamori agreed, but she couldn’t relax. Musashi’s voice sounded like that of a proud father, and it made her feel strangely sad. She passed another glance around the ship. The buffet table had suffered some damage but everyone appeared to be fine, if a little shaken.

“I hope he’s okay…” she sighed.

She hadn't intended to say it out loud, but instantly Suzuna’s ears perked up. “You’re worried about You-nii?”

Mamori’s dark expression suggested there wasn’t a further thought from her mind, but she still pulled her phone from her purse.

 _— Are you okay? Do you need help with anything?_ she typed anxiously and clicked send. He might be asleep already, so maybe he wouldn't reply, she told herself as she closed the phone. But almost immediately it pulsed with a new message.

_— Fuckin’manager, what took so long?! Did you have to finish off the entire dessert buffet first?_

It might have been the frown on her face that made Suzuna snicker behind her hand. “Tee hee hee! Go to him, Mamo-nee!”

“Suzuna-chan! It's not like that!” Mamori usually didn't give Suzuna's teasing much more attention than a dirty look. Why would anyone conjure romantic ideas about her and Hiruma anyway? It was a preposterous idea. But for once she felt a little defensive. “Hiruma-kun is injured. He doesn't have anyone to help him.”

“Oh I know…” A devious smile graced Suzuna’s face. “He needs someone to gently nurse him back to health, tee hee!”

Mamori frowned at her. “Stop it. You saw his injury. He can’t...” she cut herself off. Hiruma would not want her to suggest he was less that omnipotent.

“Ya, Mamo-nee, I'm just teasing you.” Suzuna tried to wave off her bad mood. “Just go, I won't tell anyone.”

“Not even Sena,” Mamori replied sternly. “If Hiruma-kun knows it was you who let it out, I don't know what he would do.”

“Hee, I won’t tell,” Suzuna promised. “Cross my heart and hope to die!”

 

~*~

 

The front desk had instructions to send her up and his door was already open when she arrived. When she peeked in the doorway she saw Hiruma slouched in the chair. He was wearing sweatpants and the infamous dress shirt, unbuttoned, with the right sleeve bunched around his cast. Hiruma seemed sound asleep, from the way his breathing was slow and even. She didn't want to wake him but he had asked her to come, and it would be a bit strange to just stand there watching him sleep. She knocked softly against the open door. Hiruma looked up without starting, as if he had only been resting his eyes.

“Took you long enough…” he muttered.

“Honestly, why didn't you just ask me to come in the first place?”

“I thought you’d put two and two together!”

“Did you expect me to read your mind?” she replied with a bit more edge than she felt to mask her guilt for not checking if he was okay earlier. “I’m not psychic!”

“Tch, just help me with this, already!” Hiruma pushed himself to his feet with his good arm and presented the problematic sleeve to her. “I could’ve just cut the bloody thing off but I'll be needing it again when we WIN THE CHRISTMAS BOWL! Kehkehkeh!!”

Mamori smiled with a sigh at his laugh of hysterical, maniacal glee. Of course behind one impossible goal there was another one waiting. She tugged the sleeve over the cast again until finally the shirt pulled free. Hiruma grabbed a black t-shirt from the pile by the chair. Mamori reached out to take it from him.

“Keh, I can do it myself.”

“Are you sure?”

He smirked. “Only one of my arms is broken, actually.”

She watched as he pulled the shirt over his cast then over his head, his left shoulder rotating perfectly through the maneuver. When he succeeded she breathed a little easier and gave a tiny nod of approval.

But when he tried to put on the sling, he managed to become tangled. Mamori helped adjust the fabric, even adding a little padding to keep it from cutting into the back of his neck, like she learned in first aid training. But the entire time she could feel heat in her cheeks as she remembered putting on his sling before the party, revisiting the idea that had shocked her then. What would it be like to kiss him? Did he wonder about kissing her? She glanced cautiously at his face, but he was staring intently in the other direction. Was he even capable of such a thing? Maybe he would turn to dust.   

Cast secured, Hiruma fished in the pocket of the jacket that lay crumpled on the bed and pulled out a pill bottle. Mamori’s jaw dropped as she watched him swiftly open the child-security lid with a single hand before she could even offer to help. With all the reflexes of an emergency responder, she immediately ran to the bathroom to fill the hotel’s paper-wrapped glass with water, but by the time she could offer it to him he had already swallowed the painkillers and dropped back into the chair as if every last drop of energy had been used up.

Mamori set the water down, not wanting to disturb him. It would be good for him to rest. She picked up the dress shirt and began to fold it but Hiruma reached out and snatched it from her without moving from his position in the chair and tossed it onto one of the piles of dirty laundry. She turned to his suit jacket instead. Her intention had been to hang it, but the tiny closet was blocked by a heap of clothes.

“Have you ever hung anything up before?” she asked, cautiously pushing the pile back from the door with her foot.

“Keh, well, that closet isn't entirely decorative,” he commented without opening his eyes.

The closet was full of guns, of course, as well as various weird outfits, some of which she recognized, others not. She pulled out a hanger and then located the matching pants on the floor. She smoothed and folded them before attaching them to the hanger with the jacket draped over, then tried her best to slide the suit between two costumes without introducing any unwanted creases. That task completed, her eyes fell on a dozen shoes piled haphazardly on the bottom shelf. She shook her head with her hands on her hips, then, without thinking, knelt and began sorting and arranging them in pairs.

“Fuckin' manager...” Hiruma muttered.

“Honestly, why can’t you just call me–” Mamori leaned out from behind the closet door to face him with a frown, but she broke off when she saw him still laying back in the chair, his eyes closed and his eyebrows pressed together as if he was in pain.

“Hiruma-kun, are you okay?” Mamori emerged from the closet anxiously and hovered over him. His voice had been weak.

He spoke through a grimace so softly she had to lean closer to hear. “I can’t rest with you making so much noise...”

“Oh!” Mamori was nearly overwhelmed with guilt. “Of course you need to rest, I didn’t mean to dis—”

“Tch…”

Hiruma reached out and the room swung around her suddenly. She could barely make sense of what was going on, but she felt his arm around her waist and soon realized she was sitting: he had pulled her into the chair with him.

“What are you doing?” Mamori exclaimed, pushing back against him in shock.

“Tch, watch the arm!”

“Sorry!” she gasped immediately. He had draped his broken arm over her and she didn't actually want to hurt him. But their position was really not proper, with her in his lap like that. She tried her best to slip away without jostling his cast. “Hiruma-kun, what is this?”

“Would it kill you to just rest a second?” he muttered, his eyelids drooping and his good arm still holding firm.  

She caught the scent of his skin that had surrounded her while she taped his arms and for a moment she couldn’t think about what was happening or why she was trying to struggle free. His head tipped against the back of the chair like it was a pillow. He seemed to have already drifted asleep.

With his arms still around her, she studied his angular features without the panic that had possessed her moments before. He had always been a bit strange looking, but over time he had become so familiar that his awkwardly large ears seemed perfectly proportioned. She noticed that certain muscles around his eyes and in his jaw which were always tense smoothed as he slept. His breathing was deep, not quite snoring, and soon her own breath was dragged into the same rhythm as his. It was a strange feeling to have while looking at Hiruma of all people, but it was calm. The worry she had been carrying all day dissolved seeing him finally resting, this headstrong boy living on his own with a broken arm. This boy who was so determined not to let anything stop him that he turned his defeat into a weapon… who gave everything to keep his promise… even his safety...

Suddenly her eyes snapped open. Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder. Had she slept? For how long? Panic seeped through her body again. She did her best to slip from his arms without disrupting him and rushed to the spot she had left her purse. She pulled out her cellphone anxiously to check the time.

There were several messages from Suzuna that had arrived over the previous few hours, and the most recent message seemed to respond to the fact that Mamori had not replied to any of them.

_— hope you’re having fun! *ヾ(≧∇≦)bﾞ✧*~~_

Mamori whimpered and pressed the phone to her forehead. “No no no!”

“Keh, too late, eh?” Hiruma was eyeing the clock display on the microwave beside her, acting like she hadn't just woken him from a deep sleep.

“Suzuna-chan went to Osaka with Sena and Monta-kun,” she summarized the message thread from Suzuna. Then she groaned. “What am I going to do?”

“Tch, scouting Teikoku, eh? Those brats have too much fucking energy. Kehkehkeh!” Hiruma hadn't moved from the position he had fallen asleep in, but his eyes were cracked open. “Anyway, what can you do about it? I'll call in sick for them in the morning. They'll be fine, one way or another.”

“Hiruma-kun! They’re just kids!” she replied.

“Yeah, and so are we.”

“Yes...” Mamori admitted. She glanced at the time again. “What am I going to do?”

He gave her a curious look. “Is this still about Osaka?”

“Mama thinks I'm at Suzuna's. But now Suzuna told her mother she’s staying at my place.”

“Ah.” Hiruma closed his eyes again. “So you’re staying here tonight.”

“Excuse me!?”

“What? Isn't that what you’re saying?”

“That is _certainly not_ what I am saying!” Mamori shot back. Then she returned to worrying. “Don't you realize that’s the problem in the first place!?!”

“Cuz if you go home now without the little sister, your mom’s gonna wonder where you've been, and the real reason would blow the brats’ cover and yours too, right?”

“...Right,” she sighed. His perception was quick and accurate as usual.

“So the solution is: don't go home.”

She stared at him with a scandalized expression. “Are you insane?!”

“Your mom’ll think you’re at the little sister’s place and her mom’ll think she's at yours. Problem solved,” he concluded. “Unless you snore– in which case you can walk home in the middle of the night wearing that sexy dress for all I care.”

“I don't—!! And my dress is not—!!!” Mamori pulled at her shrug to cover her chest. “Besides, I'll take a taxi.”

“A sack would be sexy if you were wearing it,” he replied as if it were an obvious and somewhat boring fact. “But taking a taxi doesn't change the problem of explaining to your mom where you’ve been...”

Mamori frantically tried to analyze the situation. As usual he was making perfect sense despite how wrong it sounded. Finally she glared back at him. “You did this on purpose, didn't you!?!”

“Me? You're the one who missed the last train,” he replied. “Besides, you’ve been here half the night already. You got a better idea?”

“How are you making this my fault?! After what just happened?!”

“What? You could have left anytime.”

“Excuse me!? It was you who—”

“Last time I checked, I was crippled _and_ asleep,” he pointed out. “I wasn’t stopping you from leaving any time you wanted.”

“But you’re the one who—” She had been arguing at full tilt, but dropped to an angry whisper as if she were afraid someone might overhear. “—who… _held_... me. Why would you do something like that?”

“Tch.” His voice was confident as usual but he avoided her eyes. “I just wanted you to be quiet for a second.”

“That is not how you ask people to be quiet, Hiruma-kun, and you know it.” Mamori replied. “It was completely inappropriate. Why are you trying so hard to make it seem like this was my fault?”

“Believe me, the last thing I want is for you to stay here.”

Mamori felt as if he had slipped a knife between her ribs, two or three spaces below her collarbone. After she swallowed the lump in her throat, all that was left was anger. She raised her head high and glared back at him. “Why, then?”

He didn't answer directly. Instead he muttered under his breath, “Tch… I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t on these painkillers during the game, or I might’ve made some devastating errors.”

She stared at him, scarcely believing what she had heard. Interpreted a certain way, following the logic to its unspoken conclusion, he had almost admitted that he had made a mistake— which may have been the closest thing to an apology she had ever heard from him. The edges of her heart seemed to soften and she frowned at herself. What kind of company had she been keeping, if this was enough to make her forgive something so completely improper?

Hiruma reached into the pile of football magazines on the side table behind him and pulled out the hotel room phone. “Hey. Toothbrush. 404.” He hung up without saying thank you or goodbye. Then he turned back to Mamori. “Just stay here.”

“Here?” Mamori repeated. “You just said that was the last thing you wanted!”

“Keh. So hung up on details. And so oblivious,” he chuckled. “Don’t you know why I said that?”

“Because you’re insufferable,” she shot back, a bit weary of his convoluted thinking.

“Because we are going to the fucking Christmas Bowl—” simply mentioning the Christmas Bowl lit his face with a maniacal smile “—and I can't risk seriously pissing you off until we’ve won it!! Kehkehkeh!!”  

“You…what?” Mamori’s expression switched from frustration to confusion.

“With the old man back we’ve finally got all the pieces together. We can't afford to lose any now, not if we want any hope of bringing down Teikoku. Who could I get to replace you in just three weeks?”

“I see,” she said, crossing her arms. This was one thing about him she could not stand. “I really am just a pawn to you, then?”

“Tch, not a pawn— but not the Queen either, that honour goes to your fuckin’ midget little brother figure. But yes, of course you’re a piece in the game. C’mon, you know that,” He grinned at her, as if that made up for it. “But you're in good company, cuz even _I’m_ just a piece in the game to me. Kehkehkeh!”

After feeling the exhilaration of watching Sena and the others realize their dreams, being some kind of game piece seemed like a small price to pay, especially when hers was not the one being smashed in pieces. And no one else on the team had gotten hurt, not like that. In the end the only piece he had sacrificed was himself. Mamori could feel her confrontational edge begin to dull, but rallied herself back to her senses, returning to his main argument. “You wouldn't _risk_ making me angry?  What about our entire relationship up until now?”

“Until now you haven't stayed overnight in my room.” Hiruma shrugged. “And I have no shortage of impure thoughts.”

“About… me?” she blinked, bewildered.

“Yeah,” he replied, staring at her as if she was an idiot. “About you.”

Mamori continued to look at him uncertainly. She still couldn't picture Hiruma enduring even a mere kiss. Thinking about kissing him, even impossibly, made the colour rise to her cheeks again. “Are you… sure?”

“What!? I have eyes!”

“Hiruma-kun!” Mamori exclaimed with a sigh. “Most of the time you don't even acknowledge that women exist!”

“Tch!” he snapped impatiently. “I'm not interested in women, I'm interested in you!”

Mamori instinctively opened her mouth again to argue back, but closed it again without saying a word, eyes wide. That abrasive idiot could be almost charming. Bewitching, even. Supernatural.

But Hiruma took her silence as disbelief that needed to be dispelled, so elaborated in a matter-of-fact tone. “I'd like to help you out of that dress and make sure you never put it back on, for example.”

Normally if someone said something like that to her face she would have slapped them. But that type of comment was so out of character for him she was taken aback, and all she could manage was to stammer out an angry “Excuse me!?” while blushing as if her face were on fire. She had decided that kissing him, though alarming, it wasn’t the worst thought ever— but his example was miles beyond anything she had imagined. If he was trying to shock her, he had succeeded.

But he didn’t laugh at her reaction or at the colour she had turned. Instead, he went on with the kind of seriousness he reserved for overcoming impossible situations.

“But you know me. Winning is more important than anything else. I won’t be tempted to put the Christmas Bowl at risk” — he pointed a finger at her, indicating his resolve— “Not even by you.”

“Hiruma… kun...” Mamori blinked frantically. Her pulse was still racing from anger and embarrassment at his blatant impropriety, but his words were working their magic. From anyone else it might have been mere semantics....

“Besides, _I'm_ the one with the broken arm.” He switched to joking again in a flash. “I should be worried about _you_ taking advantage of _me_!”

Mamori still couldn’t reply. She knew it was true. He would never do something that might compromise the Christmas Bowl, after everything he had given up to get so close.

“After we win, well…” Hiruma mused, once again leaning back, half-asleep in the chair, “then we can seriously reconsider how to spend our time together. If at all.”

 _If at all._ The words fell like drops of lead in her gut. “What does that mean?”

“You haven’t exactly tried to hide how much you can't stand me,” he replied. “And I can't really blame you. But I know your secret, too: you don't hate me as much as you’d like everyone to think.”

He watched her with a goading grin, eager for her angry protests, but she didn't even attempt to counter the comment. She could only gaze back at him in wonder. The boys counted down to the next match by marking the days with Xs on the calendar in the clubhouse, and each X was a day closer to the end of the season. During her first few months as manager, she had been acutely aware that the end of the tournament would release her from any obligation to interact with Hiruma Youichi, and it was a time she had looked forward to with great anticipation. She couldn't remember when she had stopped counting the days until she was free of him. Now the idea of not seeing him after the season ended left her feeling at a loss. She observed the sensation as if outside herself, fascinated.

A knock at the door cut off any reply.

“It's for you, fuckin’ roommate.”

Still a bit dazed, Mamori answered the door only to be presented with an individually-wrapped toothbrush. She hesitated. Accepting it seemed to be accepting to stay, which was decidedly improper. But he was right. The damage was already done. And he would never risk the Christmas Bowl. It was the best plan.

“No one can know…” she whispered, grasping the toothbrush in her fingers.

“If anyone talks, they will suffer the consequences, keh keh keh!!”

It was the kind of promise she knew he would be happy to keep.

Hiruma tossed a t-shirt at her from the clean stack beside the chair. Catching it in her fingers she realized that it and all the others had been pressed flat.

“Did you… iron this?” she gaped.

“Kehkehkeh, no, the laundry service just does that for some reason. I guess they don't know what to do with ordinary clothes.”

Dress shirts were one thing, but even the most loving mother wouldn't iron her teenage son’s t-shirts, Mamori was certain. But the laundry service couldn't iron love into the hearts of their young clients, either.

“You really have everything taken care of after all, don't you?” she murmured. With his eyes closed he couldn’t see her pitying expression but he must have been able to hear the sadness in her voice.

“It works,” he replied, with more than a hint of annoyance. “But they haven't invented liquid sleep yet, so go change already.”


	3. Chapter 3

Mamori had only disappeared into the washroom a few short minutes before she was out again. She had taken her hair down and removed the shrug that had covered her shoulders, but otherwise she was still dressed for the party. She stood in front of him in her ruched-satin dress, hovering there a few long moments before Hiruma responded to her presence.

“What?” he snapped without opening his eyes.

“I just...” Mamori replied, trying to sound less anxious than she felt.

Hiruma frowned at the squeak in her voice. He glanced up and she jumped slightly.

“Oy, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I-I… could you...  just…” Mamori stammered. She closed her eyes tight and turned to show the zipper on the back of her dress. “Please...”

She tried to pretend she was asking this without knowing the details of his professed impure thoughts– in fact, she didn’t know the details, but some part of her brain had been filling them in for her, and her pulse was racing. She held her breath.

“Tch! Always so annoying and noisy, this woman…” he grumbled as he stood up. “Doesn’t she know I have a broken arm!?”

She felt a tug at the top of her collar. Slowly the dress parted, opening to the middle of her back, but it stopped without any hands pushing it off her shoulders or down over her hips. She tried not to let her body shiver from the anticipation, but in a moment she heard him drop back into the chair again. She collected her senses enough to whisper a thank you before hurrying back to the bathroom.

His shirt was long enough to serve as a short dress, longer than what girls in some pop groups wore, but it still exposed far more of her legs than Mamori was comfortable with. There was no need to be embarrassed as she crept out of the bathroom holding the hem down, however. Hiruma was asleep again, still slouched in the chair. At first she hoped she could quickly cross the room and hide under the blankets before he could open his eyes, but seeing his arm in its cast again reminded her of the entire day she had spent holding her breath, worrying about him. She stopped in front of the chair.

“Hiruma-kun,” she whispered, shaking his good shoulder gently, “Wake up.”

He let out a sleepy groan. “What now?”

“You can’t sleep there.”

“Think again,” he replied. “I’ve done it hundreds of times.”

Her heart ached, but she spoke firmly, trying to coax him up. “Your arm wasn’t broken then.”

“Piss off already.”

“You need to sleep properly so it can heal,” she told him. He scowled as if he was being tortured by her voice, so for good measure she added: “That is, if you want to win the Christmas Bowl…”

“Tch,” he grumbled, but after a few seconds he dragged himself to his feet. “You know the magic words, anyway.”

Mamori smiled at the fact he was finally cooperating and pulled back the blankets, holding them up so he could get in easily. She positioned a pillow under his broken arm to support his cast and tucked the blanket under his chin, still smiling a content little smile.

Hiruma watched her skeptically. “You’re seriously such a mom.”

Her expression fell as she thought of the person who must have tucked him in at least a few times before. Who would have ironed his shirts and tied his shoes. Mamori took a breath and gently broached at topic that she knew was not any of her business: “Your mother would be proud of you, Hiruma-kun.”

Hiruma stared at the ceiling without replying.

“I'm sure she was watching today,” Mamori added tentatively as Hiruma continued to ignore her. “And I bet she's worried if you’re alright.”

“That woman is not worried about me, that much is certain,” he retorted.

Mamori didn't know what was more tragic, a mother who wasn’t worried about her child or a boy who believed she wasn't worried. A tiny sigh escaped her lungs, despite all her efforts to hold it back. Hiruma noticed.

“Well, she’s the smart one at least,” he told her. He seemed to be almost laughing at her concern. “Don’t you know? Smart women leave losers, fuckin' manager.”

Mamori bit the inside of her lip. She had felt an unexplainable alliance with that person up until that moment, certain it was an ungrateful Hiruma who had done the leaving. She had to blink a few times to stay perfectly composed.

“Well,” she spoke with her best no-nonsense tone. “ _I’m_ proud of you, anyway. You’ve worked so hard. It doesn't matter who wins Christmas Bowl. I still want—” A calendar covered in X's loomed in her thoughts, but she didn't know how to finish her sentence.

“Keep spouting shit like that and I really _will_ have to find a new manager,” Hiruma interrupted before he could notice her hesitation. “I don't need you or anyone else to be fucking proud of me. As for the Christmas Bowl—”

“That's not the point!” Mamori sighed in frustration. “I know you already think I'm an idiot, but—”

“Keh, not a complete idiot."

"You've called me that to my face a hundred times!"

"So why am I worried about pissing you off, then? If you really thi—”

“—All I'm trying to say is,” she countered him swiftly, “I’m not going to leave you just because of who gets the most points in some sports game!”

There. She said it. She didn't care what he thought. 

Hiruma didn't reply, but after a sideways glance at her he closed his eyes. For an instant she thought he had fallen asleep, but after a moment he spoke again.

“What’s your plan?” he asked with his eyes still shut. “Sleep in the chair, or what?”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “My arm isn’t broken, after all.”

“It’s all about the angles. My spine is longer than yours, it makes a support at a thirty-five degree angle. You’re too short.”

“You should get some sleep. Don’t worry about me.” Mamori patted the blanket one last time. “Just rest.”

She felt satisfied as she sank into the chair, knowing she had ensured Hiruma would get a half-decent night of sleep without needlessly suffering, at least not on her account. But when she lay back the way she had seen him sleeping, the edge of the poorly designed cubic chair pressed painfully into her neck. Based on his comments she shifted the angle and tried various other positions: leaning into the corner, using the arm as a pillow, curling like a cat on the seat. Nothing worked, but she could hear Hiruma’s deep, regular breathing, so she knew that at least he was sleeping while she lay awake.

After what felt like an eternity she peered at the microwave clock, thinking it might soon be time to wake up. Barely an hour had passed. Hypnotically tired, Mamori sat up and gazed at the bed. After falling asleep in his lap, what difference would it make? _If_ she lay on top of the blankets... _If_ no one found out…  She was so tired even the notion of giving him a new source of blackmail didn't register as a concern, and she had only a vague memory of climbing into the bed.

 

 

#### ~*~

 

 

The next thing Mamori remembered was waking as something shifted under her head. It smelled nice. She raised her head, startled, only to find she was laying with her face resting on Hiruma’s upper arm

“Tch… Don’t move,” he muttered, wincing as he adjusted the angle of his shoulder and slipped his arm out from under her. “I’ve only got one good arm, but that’s just gotta be the one you put to sleep, huh?”

“Sorry!” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She didn't know how they had ended up in that position– she was not on top of the covers, but under them, for instance– and she was becoming concerned about what else she didn't remember.

“Kehkehkeh, your face was buried in my armpit before, you’re lucky you didn't suffocate and die!” Hiruma teased her.

Mamori felt her face turn red with embarrassment. “I…!”

“Just… Don’t move,” he said again, sitting up. He extricated himself from the blankets, slipped off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Mamori didn't move. The fact that she was in a bed with a boy was somewhat surreal, but as she lay there in the dark the reality of it came into focus. Despite being in the highest category of _wrong_ , _bad and improper_ things, it might not have been such a problem if Hiruma had still been the person she thought she knew so well-- terrible, but someone who had never expressed any interest in the opposite sex before. He had said things that night that made her flush with anger and… something else. Somehow she had caught herself thinking of him as a member of the opposite sex who was, apparently (unbelievably?), attractive. An impossible thing to feel about a person who had never treated her with even half the minimum levels of respect she expected. Even if he were to kiss her… and even if that was something she hadn’t stopped thinking about the entire evening… she couldn’t allow such a thing with someone who treated her the way he did. 

When Hiruma returned, he lay back down beside her and replaced his arm to the exact same spot under her head. Mamori’s heart pounded and she curled her arms against her chest, creating a buffer between their bodies, but he didn't make any moves to pull her closer. In fact, the only place they touched was the spot where her head rested on his arm, which stretched out on the mattress behind her.

Neither of them spoke.

In a position like that, Mamori knew she should feel worried, but the fact that he hadn't tried anything was a relief. He meant what he had said. Of course. This was Hiruma, afterall. She wondered if it was normal that his body generated so much heat that she could feel the warmth even a foot and a half away. It was a while before she noticed herself feeling comfortable lying there in the warmth beside him. Peaceful, just like earlier when they had fallen asleep together in the chair. She had let her guard down. She was little angry at herself for it.

The fringe of her hair tickled her forehead as his breath fell against it. Mamori glanced up to check if he was asleep again, but this time Hiruma's eyes were open.

“You should rest,” she reminded him softly, despite her frustration.

“Well,” he mused softly, “tonight might never come again...”

A crooked grin crept onto his face as if they were sharing some personal joke. She couldn't find it funny.

“Hiruma-kun,” she began, maintaining the -kun to keep at least a symbolic distance between them despite their actual physical closeness. She took a breath. “Do you like me, even a little?”

Hiruma cackled at that. “I thought I was pretty clear. Do you want me to get more explicit?”

“Not like that!” she exclaimed. “I mean, do you even like me as a person?”

Hiruma turned his head so he was looking at her directly with a frown. “You have to ask?”

“You've never said a single respectful thing to me,” she reminded him. “You can't even bear to address me without some crass term, even after I've asked you not to a thousand times. Yes, I have to ask.”

“I could ask the same question. Or am I just an object for your armpit fetish?”

Mamori blushed but did her best to ignore the comment.

“Just tell me. Is there even one thing you like about me, for who I am?” she repeated. Her pulse was racing, as if she was afraid to know the answer.

Hiruma looked at her with an expression that suggested he was either completely unconcerned or found the whole thing hilarious. “My favourite part of your body—” he began, curling his good arm around her.

“That is _not_ what I'm asking, Hiruma- _kun!_ ” Mamori guarded against him with her own arms, still folded in front of her like a shield.

“—is right here.” He pressed the spot at the top of her nose bridge, right between her eyebrows. “Every time you look at me, there’s a wrinkle there.”

Mamori's frown deepened with confusion. Hiruma's smirk of a smile widened as he watched the creases deepen, too, as if on cue.

“You've never been afraid of me. You never yielded to me. You always fought back.” He stared intently at her as if searching for some clue that she understood an encoded message.  “You’re the only one who dared.”

His arm was still wrapped around her, curling around her head with his fingers not quite touching her face.

“All that fire, always ready for me. Always ready to fight, never giving in...” he smiled. “Until today. When it mattered.”

Mamori gazed back at him from behind her balled fists. She was trapped in his eyes and certainly didn't feel like someone who never yielded… but there was nothing to yield to, since the kiss she kept expecting never materialized. But her heart was pounding. She began to wonder if she was supposed to be the one to kiss him first.

Then Hiruma let his arm fall against the mattress and turned his gaze back to the ceiling. Mamori felt the air return to her lungs. His answer was shocking-- immediate, yet thoughtful, like he had been composing his response for days. But he had asked her the same question, and she hadn’t answered. Not because she didn't know how to answer, but because she was afraid for him to know. To answer was a risk.

He always took too many risks.  

“Hiruma,” she whispered. She took one breath, and then another. Finally she said: “I like you, too.”

“Ah,” he replied. He didn't look at her but let his fingers smooth her hair back from her forehead. “That's useful information.”

Mamori's pulse didn't slow but instead she discovered it was exactly the right speed. They breathed together for a few minutes, warm and calm but unable to sleep.

“Oxygen capsule tomorrow…” he said finally, as if in reply to a question that she hadn’t asked.

Mamori nodded. It was a desperate plan, and an expensive one, but she couldn’t find fault in it. Feeling the heat of his body so close, she realized the capsule would ensure they didn’t make any irrational mistakes before the Christmas Bowl. That was probably for the best. Three weeks was a long time, and already in just one night she had managed to do several things that she wouldn't want anyone to know about.   

But three weeks also seemed like a long time to not be able to fall asleep like this again.

Mamori hesitantly stretched her arm across his chest and shifted her weight until the length of her body rested against his. It was not proper but it felt better to be closer.

“We’re just sleeping, right?” Hiruma asked skeptically, adjusting his good arm around her.

“Yes, that’s all,” Mamori agreed, not sure whether that was already technically a lie or not.

His hand slid down along her back and stopped on her hip. Between their height difference and the length of his arms, he could easily reach past the edge of the shirt to the skin on her thigh.  Instead he let his hand rest on her waist and let out a sigh. “Gah… didn't I say already, nothing you can do can tempt me?”

“Nothing?” Mamori asked. She raised her arm up and traced his face with her fingers, guiding his face toward hers. Leaning toward his mouth she hesitated again, stuck on the dream that he would kiss her first.

“Fuck…” His grip tightened around her waist and his breath was hot on her mouth but their lips still didn't touch. “Make a list, woman. I'll do anything you ask me to… but not tonight.”

Mamori closed her eyes to collect herself. “I know...” She pulled back and his arm loosened just enough to accommodate the movement. Her arm returned to his chest and she rested her head on his shoulder again. “We can't risk the Christmas Bowl.”

Just before his eyes fell shut one last time, Hiruma grinned. “We’re gonna win the Christmas Bowl.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't doubt that Hiruma has a female Deimon uniform in his closet that she can wear in the morning (although maybe a couple sizes too large)! 
> 
> \---
> 
> I have seen a couple awesome fics that filled in the blanks with this day in the series, which were definitely part of the inspiration for this but not intended to be copying at all! 
> 
> I realized there were a few things that don't line up in this story-- I think everyone gets changed on the cruise ship, for example-- but hopefully that didn't ruin the appeal. 
> 
> My goal here was just some comfy napping!!! Hope you enjoyed :)


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